Reclamation
by darklockd
Summary: Sherlock returns from the dead to find that Molly has moved on with her life. However, he has changed during that time away, enough to finally claim what he considers his. Dark possessive Sherlock, A-hole Tom, Molly somewhere between who she is in S3 and who she was at the end of S2 (I hope). Sherlolly with some hints of Johnlock/Jollock, maybe, but mostly Sherlolly.
1. Chapter 1

They were watching telly when their worlds parted company, although they weren't to realize that was what was happening until after Molly got up to see who was pounding so insistently on the door to her flat. Tom made to get up first, of course, being a gentleman, but she waved him away. "It's probably Mrs. Fischer, you know how she is."

Deaf, was what she meant. Deaf and apparently unable to remember that other people could hear someone knocking on their door with no problem. Sighing, Molly pasted a friendly smile on her face as she unlocked and opened the door, expecting to see her elderly neighbor in the hall, asking for help with something or other as she did every few nights.

The smile vanished as Molly let out a gasp of surprised shock at the unexpected sight of Sherlock Holmes standing there, as if he'd never left London two years earlier. "Hello, Molly, as you can see, I'm back," was all he said as he brushed by her and entered the flat.

Tom had risen to his feet and was also gaping at Sherlock, although his surprise was tempered with outrage. "Oi!" he said indignantly. "Who the hell do you think you – urk!"

The last was said because Sherlock, having reached him, had grabbed Tom around the throat and shoved him back down so he was once again sitting on Molly's hideous floral sofa. "Molly, do tell your ex-fiancé to pack up his things and get out," he said arrogantly, eyes boring into those of Tom. "I'm glad you found someone to fulfill your sexual needs while I was away but the time for playing house is over."

"Molly, who the fuck is this?" Tom demanded, although he kept a wary eye on the man towering over him. The vaguely familiar looking man, now that he thought about it. His eyes widened as he said, "Say! Aren't you that detective chap? The one who offed himself?" He couldn't help it, his eyes darted over to his fiancée, who was nervously twisting the ring on her finger and still not saying anything. "Molly! This is him, isn't it? Sherlock Holmes?" He looked back up at the other man and frowned. "Why the hell aren't you dead?"

"Yes, I'm Sherlock Holmes, and why the hell aren't you doing as I asked and packing your things?" Sherlock countered in a bored voice. "Really, Molly, I understand your need to be with someone who reminded you of me physically, but did you have to pick such an idiot?" He smirked and stepped back, unwinding his blue Cashmere scarf from around his throat and carelessly dropping it onto the low table sat in front of the sofa where Tom still, sat gaping like – well, like the idiot he was. "Don't answer that, I know the reason of course; no one could even come close to matching my intellect – well, except my brother Mycroft and we both know you're far from his type – so you settled for the merely physical instead. Makes it easier when you're in bed together, in the dark, doesn't it? To pretend?"

Tom glanced uneasily at Molly, wondering why she wasn't saying anything, why she was just standing there, arms wrapped around her waist as if she had a stomachache, nibbling on her lower lip the way she did when she was nervous. Why wasn't she telling this git to shut up – and why, Tom wondered with a heavy feeling in his gut, wasn't she denying any of the things Sherlock Holmes was saying?

"You don't know what you're talking about," he finally blustered, rising to his feet but keeping a wary eye on the surprisingly fast – and violent – intruder.

"Oh, don't I?" Sherlock said, his voice a dangerous purr as he walked a circle around Tom, hands tightly clasped behind his back as if he needed to restrain himself from once again choking him. "How long after you started dating did Molly convince you to cut your hair?" He nodded at the photo of Molly and Tom taken six months ago, when his hair was still down to his shoulders. "And when did she buy you that coat I see hanging by the door, the one that looks remarkably like the one I'm wearing right now?" His voice took on a mocking note as he stopped, standing between Tom and Molly, blocking her from his sight. Not that he could take his eyes off Sherlock; Tom felt frozen, as if the man's words and piercing blue-green eyes were combining to pin his feet to the floor. "Did she teach you to wrap your scarf the same way I was just wearing mine, hmm? And are you aware she only agreed to marry you because she'd finally given up hope that I was ever coming back?" He lowered his voice and grinned unpleasantly as he added, "Does she make you keep your mouth shut during sex to make it easier for her to pretend you're me?"

"Sherlock, please, stop it!" Molly finally spoke, moving into the room and wringing her hands together as she came to a stop between the two men. Tom was shaking and red-faced with rage and embarrassment – no doubt because that last taunt had struck a very, very personal nerve – and Sherlock was smug and gloating, although his eyes were blazing with contempt. "Tom, I'm sorry...yes, this is Sherlock Holmes, he's not really dead, well, obviously not," she said, rambling like she always did when she was nervous. "Anyway, um, I kind of helped him but…"

Tom's eyes widened as he stared down at Molly incredulously. "You helped him? Molly, that's fucking illegal, you could go to jail for shit like that! And for what, to save a fake? Are you fucking _crazy_?"

Two large hands were suddenly fisted in his shirt, hauling him closer to a face that had gone very, very cold and scary looking. "Don't speak to Molly like that," Sherlock growled. "She saved my life, and the lives of three other people who are very important to me that day. You, on the other hand, mean absolutely _nothing_ to me, and Molly can tell you what I'm like when people who mean nothing to me do things I don't like to the people who matter to me."

Molly's hand on his fist caught his attention; Sherlock glanced down at her, his eyes still glacial, but then he did as she was silently asking and let Tom go. But the next time the moron said or did something to set him off, Sherlock knew he wouldn't just stop at manhandling him. He'd just spent two fucking years taking down a criminal empire; he certainly had no problems dealing with a loser like Tom Whiting, bank clerk with no prospects of promotion due to his excessive stupidity and complete lack of ambition, who fancied himself fit but could be taken down by Molly's cat Toby if said cat was pissed off enough.

Tom, unaware of Sherlock's thoughts but obviously understanding his contempt, glared at the other man then glanced down at Molly angrily. "Molly, tell him to leave," he ordered her. "We need to talk about this. Alone."

She sighed and lowered her eyes, but when she looked back up with a beseeching expression on her face, it was at Sherlock. "Please, I know you've just got back, Sherlock, but Tom's right; the very least I owe him is to explain things a bit more, well, diplomatically than you've just done. Just give us tonight, please? Are you…have you moved back into Baker Street?" Then, as if it was just occurring to her: "Does John know you're back?"

Sherlock nodded, looking sullen, and Tom didn't bother hiding the triumphant smirk as he met the bastard's gaze. Yeah, sure, seeing him back from the dead and knowing Molly had helped him was a shock, but there was no way his sweet little lab mouse could possibly be want to be with someone so freaking violent! God, he should call the cops and have him up on charges, but Molly seemed cowed by him – yeah, that had to be it. She was afraid of him, and as soon as he left, she'd explain that that was why she hadn't denied any of the ridiculous things Sherlock 'the fake detective' Holmes had said. He'd assure her he forgave her, they'd find some way to keep the lunatic out of their lives, and…

The fantasy Tom was happily spinning within his mind faded to nothing as he caught a glimpse of Molly's face as she escorted Sherlock to the door. She didn't look frightened or angry or anything but – well, dazzled was the word that came to mind. Lovestruck. She even tiptoed up and planted a quick kiss on the other man's cheek, and Tom felt a flush of anger and hurt overcome him as he bent closer so Molly – _his_ Molly, dammit! – could hurriedly whisper something in his ear. Then he nodded and left, not bothering to look back.

As the door closed and Molly clicked the lock, Tom could only sit there and stare at her. She took a long time before turning around, and when she did, he saw her square her shoulders in that way she had when she was about to do something she didn't want to do – or say something she didn't want to say.

"No," he choked out as she moved to join him on the sofa, reaching out as if to lay her hand on his leg. He pulled away and stared at her. "Don't fucking touch me right now. Not until I hear from your own lips that he was making all that shit up."

Molly's hesitation was brief but noticeable; in spite of what her 'friend' had just said, Tom Whiting wasn't a complete idiot. Sure, not the brightest bulb in the box, he knew that, but not a complete idiot.

For example, he knew damn well when he was about to get dumped. "Don't bother," he snapped as he heaved himself up to his feet. "Don't bother with the 'it's not you it's me' crap, or the 'I really do love you, it's just that now he's back and I love him more' or, 'I love you both in different ways', or whatever you're about to say." He held out his hand, avoiding her eyes. "Just give me back the ring, Molly."

"Tom, no, please," she said, and he finally looked at her, seeing the pleading expression in her eyes as she twisted the ring around on her finger. Another nervous habit of hers, one that had grown more noticeable every time they talked about setting a date for the wedding. "It's not that…I do love you, please don't think I was just using you or something…"

He ignored her, finally recognizing the desperation in her voice had nothing to do with her actually wanting him to stay, and everything to do with her trying to convince herself that she did. "The ring, Molly. It was my grandmothers and I'd appreciate having it back. Now." He continued to hold out his hand until she suddenly pulled it from her hand with sharp yank.

"Fine, take it," she spat at him. "Don't believe me. But for fuck's sake, Tom, do you really think I'd have said yes when you proposed if I didn't intend to marry you? Even if Sherlock came back?"

He gave a bitter laugh as she dropped the ring into his outstretched palm, closing his fingers around the small gold band with its simple solitaire diamond. "Molly, since until tonight I never even knew the two of you had a thing before he supposed killed himself – in fact, since you repeatedly told me you _didn't_ have a thing with him before then – how the hell was I supposed to know anything? God," he said in disgust as he reached for his coat, "the two of you honestly deserve one another. You let him say all that crap and never even opened your fucking mouth to deny it. So much for our honest, loving relationship."

Molly flinched at the bitterness in his voice, he noted with some vindictive satisfaction, but didn't try to defend herself or deny anything. Which meant he was right. No, which meant Sherlock fucking _Holmes_ was right; he'd been nothing but a poor substitute to warm Molly's bed and give her the fantasy of the ordinary life she insisted she wanted to live when Tom proposed.

Hah. So much for that. Clearly his quiet little fiancée with her grisly job was a lot less 'ordinary' than she pretended to be – and Tom didn't like that. Not one bit. He didn't want to marry a woman who helped someone fake their death…and why, exactly, had he done it in the first place? Should he ask her?

No, Tom decided as he reached for his scarf – and then dropped it to the floor in disgust. It totally sucked that the style he'd adopted in the past few months, which Molly of course had helped him with, was just to make him look like someone else. He'd go back to his denim jackets and parkas, fuck the long dramatic coat and the expensive scarves Molly had gifted him with. He was damn well going to grow his hair out again, too, and the sideburns he'd sacrificed in the name of love.

Molly wasn't crying, which surprised him a bit and disappointed him a lot. He felt angry that she didn't seem more upset with what had just happened, that their breakup wasn't hurting her the way it was hurting him, but then again, why should it? She was still getting what she wanted, the man she really wanted to be with, so he, Tom Whiting, was the only loser in this deal.

With those and other acrimonious thoughts swirling through his head, he started to slam out of the flat, muttering something about picking up his things in a week or so. He heard Molly say something about mailing them to him, and something inside him just snapped.

"I said I'll FUCKING PICK THEM UP!" he screamed, storming back into the flat, shoving the door shut and kicking her coffee table over. Molly yelped and started to rise to her feet, but he shoved her back on the sofa, feeling a complete sense of freedom as he let his rage just take over. "Jesus, Molly, can't you even fucking let me break up with you the way I want to? Or do I have to ask Sherlock fucking Holmes for permission to get my own shit when I want to?"

"Tom, please," Molly started to say, but he didn't want to hear it, didn't want her to try and reason with him, and his hand was up and across her face in a stinging slap before he even realized what he was doing.

The slap shocked them both; Molly gasped and raised her hand to her face, staring at him as if he was a stranger, and Tom felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. Before he could do more than open his mouth to try and stammer out an apology, the sound of the flat's door banging open behind them caught both their attention, and once again Tom found himself facing an enraged Sherlock Holmes.

Only Molly's pleas and insistence on placing herself between the two men saved Tom from being beaten to within an inch of his life. "Just go," she said as she threw herself into Sherlock's arms after he'd landed a few blows that left Tom's lip bleeding and would lead to some spectacular bruises in the morning. "I'll send you things to you, Tom, but don't ever come back here again. I don't ever want to see you again, and if I do, I promise, I won't stop Sherlock next time."

Tom took her words to heart and left, knowing himself to be in the wrong. He'd crossed a very important line, and had no interest in ever finding himself in such a position again.


	2. Chapter 2

**someone asked if there would be smut and the answer is read below! probably one more chapter after this one. thanks millions to everyone for reading and reviewing!**

Molly stared at the door as it slammed shut behind her ex-fiancé, then looked up at Sherlock. Had he expected Tom to go postal like that, was that why he'd never left after she said good-bye to him? He was certainly as angry as she'd ever seen him, his eyes nearly sapphire blue with very little of the usual green showing, his cheeks blotched with red and his hair a bit wild . God, seeing him like this was such a turn-on, it was as if two years hadn't passed since they'd last had sex. His scarf had come loose and she suddenly found herself very much wanting to yank it off his neck.

So she did. As if her actions had been just the catalyst he needed, Sherlock shrugged out of his coat, allowing it to fall to the floor as he reached for her. "Should've just let me kick him the fuck out when I first got here," he mumbled as he yanked her up against his body. Molly didn't trust herself to speak, just nodded to indicate her agreement before he tugged at her hair, tilting her face up at the perfect angle for him to smash his lips against hers for a hard, brusing kiss.

God, she'd missed this, missed being with him, feeling how good it was to let him take control and do things to her that she'd never let any other man do to her before. She'd tried to guide Tom into making love to her the way Sherlock had, utterly taking control and fearless, but he'd always been a gentleman. She definitely wasn't going to miss that about him. Tom had never held her so tightly that there would be bruises in the morning, on her hips and breast and everywhere else Sherlock laid his hands. He was branding her, marking her with his fingers the same way he was marking her with his mouth as his lips moved down and began sucking hard at her neck.

Sherlock couldn't believe how good it felt to hold Molly this way, to feel her pliant form in his arms. She let him do whatever he wanted to her when it came to sex, and loved every second of it. He'd missed her so fucking much, and even though he'd told her she had to move on after he left, since he had no idea when or even if he would ever return to London, he'd changed his mind as time passed and regretted those words every single day.

Well, so much for the idiot she'd hooked up with – her taste in men still sucked, aside from him of course. He was gone, out of her life for good, and good riddance. He wished Molly hadn't stopped him from beating the crap out of him after he dared to put his hands on her, but if they ever ran into one another again, he'd make up for it. Right now Sherlock had Molly back, and all he wanted was to take off his clothes and Molly's, drag her to her bedroom and fuck her brains out.

Molly wanted the same thing, he felt her tugging at his hand and muttering to him between kisses. "Bedroom, come on, Sherlock, please," she gasped, and he allowed her to pull him along, kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning his shirt as they moved down the short hallway that led to the two small bedrooms and the single bathroom the flat featured.

Like him, Molly had started shucking clothes as soon as they started walking, and was down to her knickers by the time they reached her bed. Sherlock undid his trousers, dropping them and his shorts to the floor at the same time, while she tugged his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall wherever. Then he shoved her onto to the bed so she was lying with her legs dangling over the edge, knelt down and pulled her knickers off so he could dive in and do what he'd been wanting to do, what he'd fantasized about doing for so fucking long it had almost become an obsession: eat her out, make her cum in his mouth and scream for him to fuck her.

He remembered the first time he'd gone down on her, the night before he'd jumped from St. Bart's and started his mission to take down Moriarty's web. It was the first time he'd done so in over a decade, had a woman's pussy in his mouth and her sweet, musky scent in his nose. Yes, he'd fucked Irene Adler after saving her life in Karachi, but that had been on her terms, and going down on her hadn't been part of the deal.

Whatever. His night with Irene, that was just a one off, now he's with Molly, HIS Molly, and he's going to make her remember who she belongs to tonight.

Molly moaned as Sherlock's head ended up between her legs. She widened them , throwing one over his shoulder and raising the other, spreading herself out and giving him more room between her thighs. She missed him, God she missed him so much and now he's back and his mouth is on her pussy and she can't help the harsh, guttural moans that escape her lips as he eats her out.

"Fuck, Molly, you taste better than you did before," he said, raising his head and smiling at her smugly. "I wonder if you'll scream my name as loudly as you did then, hmm?" Then he dove back in, licking and sucking, his fingers spreading her apart and pressing lightly at her opening while his tongue worked her clit. He slid one finger inside her, smiling darkly at the sound of her gasp, then smiling again when she arched against him as he pulled it out and moved his slick, moist finger further down, pressing lightly against the opening to her arse before shoving it deep inside her.

"God, fuck, yes, Sherlock!" she screamed, rolling her head back and forth on the bed and digging her nails into the covers. He body quivered and shook as he finger-fucked her arse while still sucking on her clit, making obscene slurping noises as he ate her out.

She screamed his name again as she came, and he tasted the difference, felt the muscles clenching around his finger and waited for her to come down from her orgasm before pulling himself free. He wiped his finger on her bedspread, knowing she'd proably throw it everything in the wash in the morning and knowing he'd leave even more wet spots on it before the night was over.

While she shuddered and shook and pressed her thighs together as she came down from the high of her orgasm, he stroked himself and watched, loving the sight of her coming completely undone because of him. He imagined her mouth on his cock and felt himself getter harder. Impatient to feel himself inside her, he leaned over and sucked her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as she groaned and fisted her hands in his hair. "Oh, God, Sherlock, yes, please, suck harder," she begged, reaching for his hand and putting it on her other breast. He pinched the nipple the way she liked, rolling it betweenhis fingers and loving the sound of her gasps and moans. She was well on her way to another orgasm, and this time he wanted to join her, to press his cock deep inside her sweet little pussy and feel her muscles clenching around him. Then he would push her on her knees and fuck her arse, using his fingers on her clit as she rocked back against him. Then he would go down on her again, eating her out, sucking down her juices, tasting her as she came against his mouth.

Oh yes, Sherlock Holmes had a lot of plans for this night, and for all the nights that would follow. But for now he contented himself with sucking hard at her nipples, moving his mouth back and forth, using his fingers on whichever breast his mouth wasn't latched onto, feeling Molly's body slick with sweat and writhing beneath his touch. "Did you like it when Tom sucked your tits?" he asked, leaning up on his elbows and gazing into her eyes. Her pupils were blown back so far there was barely any brown to be seen, and she was panting with want. He slipped a finger between her legs and found her wet and ready for him again, but waited for her to answer before sliding it deeper inside her.

"N-no," she said, then corrected herself. "I mean, yes, I did, but it wasn't you, Sherlock, it wasn't the same. And he wouldn't…he was so bloody _cautious_," she said, finally giving vent to the main complaint she'd had about her ex-fiancé's lovemaking – beside the fact that he wasn't Sherlock, of course. "He never wanted to hurt me, and I had to pretend it was ok and that I liked what he was doing, but God, Sherlock, he didn't know how to touch me the right way, and when I tried to show him what I liked he acted as if…as if I didn't mean it or something."

"How many orgasms did he give you?" Sherlock growled as he slid a second finger inside her, feeling her wet heat gripping him and scissoring his fingers slightly. He already knew he was bigger than Tom, that Molly would need to be stretched out to accommodate his girth, just by how she was squirming and gasping at his touch. "How many?" he demanded, leaning forward so that his face was inches from hers. "Real ones, Molly. Real ones that didn't involve you touching yourself while he fucked you."

"I don't know," she gasped as he nipped at her throat. "God, a couple, I think, maybe…mostly I only came if he went down on me, but he didn't like to do that very much either." Come to think of it, there was a lot of things Tom didn't like to do during sex; what the fuck had she even been thinking? Yeah, his dog was nice and his parents were nice and his friends at the pub were nice, but he'd been the most boring fuck she'd ever had and still she'd talked herself into thinking she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. They'd have been divorced in a year if the sex stayed as boring and vanilla as it had been since they'd gotten engaged six months ago!

"A couple, eh?" Sherlock said musingly as he added a third finger, stretching her further and loving the way she squirmed and begged him to fuck her harder. "I think I can beat that record before the morning, don't you, Molly? Hmm? Shall we see if I can make you cum more than a couple of times tonight?"

With that goal in mind he really set to work on her, once again leaning his head down to lick her clit while his fingers continued to move inside her. Yes, he wanted to fuck her for real and cum inside her, but knowing that Tom hadn't been able to get her off that often did things to him, made him want to remind Molly off all she'd been missing while he'd been gone.

He could feel the growing tension in her sweet body and nipped at her clit after circling it a few more times with his tongue. She screamed and bucked wildly against his face, reaching down and grabbing his hair and tugging hard as she came. He pulled his fingers out of her and smeared her fluids on her breasts, then leaned down and lapped greedily at the sweet combination of her rock hard nipples covered with her own juices. She mewled his name and shuddered hard. He knew she'd be sore in the morning but he didn't care. If he had his way he'd be just as sore and just as satisfied.

"So I'm guessing – except of course I never guess – he never got you off twice in a row like that, either," Sherlock said, keeping his voice conversational in spite of the rapidity of his breathing and the racing of his heart. Her own breating and heart rate were even faster and more erratic, and a light sheen of sweat covered her. He licked a drop off her shoulder and bit down. "Never twice in a row and never from fucking you, from sticking his cock inside you."

"He called it his meat dagger," Molly blurted out, then blushed violently at betraying something so private about her ex. But it as Sherlock, she couldn't keep anything from him and she'd already told him about how things were – had been – between her and Tom, so there was no point worrying about it now.

Sherlock gave a snort of laughter, then turned his face to meet hers, givng her a smoldering look that made her feel weak in the knees. His voice was a low, suggestive rumble as he said, "Well, you already know mine's more like a sword than a dagger, Molly, are you ready to be properly impaled?"

Her open-mouthed expression told him the answer even before she exclaimed, "Oh, GOD, yes, Sherlock! Please fuck me, God, I've missed you so much, you don't know…"

He kissed her, hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he thrust his cock into her pussy. Not as fast as would have liked, but she'd spent a year not having sex at all and then another year with 'Meat Dagger' and wasn't used to being properly filled anymore. But when he'd thrust in and out of her shallowly a few times, gritting his teeth as he forced restraint upon himself, he finally bottomed out and felt her fingernails digging into his shoulders. She lifted her knees and crossed her ankles behind his back, and that was all the encouragement he needed to start fucking her as hard as they both wanted him to.


	3. Chapter 3

**So I guess i should warn people there's some sortof Johnlocky stuff in here, but only Molly fantasizing a bit and Sherlock thinking about it but don't worry he gets right back to Molly. I just read some pretty awesome Jollock (John/Molly/Sherlock) stories and I guess its affecting me so sorry if that's not your thing. I'm gonna change the description of the story since it went there even if I'm not sure if there will be more to it than this. End game is always Sherlolly though so don't worry this isn't a bait and switch Johnlock story, promise!**

Molly couldn't believe this was actually happening, that Sherlock was really here and had claimed her even though she'd done something so stupid as getting engaged to Tom. And it wasn't just the fantastic sex they were having right now or the fact that Sherlock had made her cum twice in a row and was probably going to make her cum even more before the end of the night. It was everything that this meant, that Sherlock wanted to be with her enough to break her relationship up. She wondered briefly if he'd done the same with John and his girlfriend Mary, but didn't ask him. Couldn't ask him, actually, since she was too busy panting and gasping Sherlock's name to have the breath to spare for asking about John and Mary, but she knew damn well that Sherlock wasn't just possessive about her.

Not that she thought Sherlock wanted to fuck John, or that John would let him; hell, John had even made a pass at her once, back in the day, he was such a ladies man that the thought of him and Sherlock kissing and having sex was kind of funny. Funny, but a bit of a turn on; just picturing Sherlock doing to John what he was currently doing to her was enough to make her cum for the third time, screaming loud enough to wake the dead if they'd bein in the morgue.

She was glad Sherlock didn't ask her what she'd been thinking when she came, but she could tell he knew she' by the amused expression on his face. Or maybe he knew she'd been fantasizing; he always seemed to know, so why not this? She would have blushed except she was already red and sweaty from having the best sex she'd had in two years so blushing would have been like the proverbial water on a drowning man.

"You're thinking dirty thoughts, Molly, I can tell," he said as he continued to thrust into her, slowing his movements probably so he could talk without gasping for breath. He was always so in control, even during sex. Sometimes it drove Molly nuts and sometimes she loved it, how he never completely lost it until the very end, the point where no man could hold back. She wantd to see his face as he came inside her, to see the moment he lost all control and his eyes squeezed shut and those sexy grunts escaped his lips. "Tell me what you were thinking about, Molly, or do you want me to deduce it?"

She gasped as he thrust into her, hard, his eyes a burning blue as he stared down at her with so much intensity she nearly came just from the way he was looking at her. "You coulnd't," she managed to respond.

He grabbed her wrists and held them up over her head, stopping moving entirely as he glared at her. "Don't underestimate me, Molly," he growled. "You never have before, why are you starting now? I know I've ben away but really, two years isn't long enough for you to forget, is it?" His eyes narrowed as he raked her with his gaze. "Your breathing became even more erratic and your eyes were unfocused. During sex your eyes are usually closed or else locked on mine. So you were thinking about something, something that made you cum even faster than normal, especially after you'd already cum twice. Something to do with me even if it's not what I'm currently doing to you." He sounded smug, but even though Molly wanted to slap him, she couldn't blame him. He knew her so well, damn it, but she knew him pretty well too and two could play at that game.

"Well, at least I wasn't picturing me having sex with Tom," she said, giggling as he gazed at her in open-mouthed surprise. "Oh, I could tell, you were busy thinking about how you were going to make me forget all about having sex with him…and I'll bet you were calculating how many times we had sex while you were away, hmm? And we did," she added, a darker edge to her teasing now as she rested passively in his hold. "We had quite a lot of sex Sherlock…"

"Quite a lot of unsatisfying sex," he corrected her smugly, causing her to frown as he neatly derailed her temporary feeling of superiority. "Quantity will never win over quality." He pushed himself back inside her, bottoming out, feeling his balls slapping against her flesh and loving it. So was she; he could practically hear her heart beating, and watched avidly as her teeth nibbled at her plump lower lip. What had possessed him to ever call her lips small, or her breasts? Well, honesty compelled him to admit that they were small, but small wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He swoopd down to capture a kiss, nipping at her lower lip and sucking it into his mouth, loving the way her tits felt against his sweaty chest. He moved his hips again, drawing things out, determined to make it last long enough for him to get her to confess what she'd been imagining when she'd cum that last time.

His eyes lit up as he connected the final dots, and his grip on her wrists tightened as he once again stopped moving. She whimperd a bit, but he held her pinned with his body and his hand wrapped securely around her wrists. "You were thinking about me with someone else, weren't you, Molly," he rumbled. She writhed and fought against his hold, stubbornly keeping silent, but he could tell he'd deduced correctly by the way she refused to meet his eyes. He leaned his head down and nipped at her throat, pulling a moan out of her, then thrust his hips for good measure. She wrapped her legs around his waist and tried to get him to continue, but he held stubbornly still. "Tell me who you were picturing me with, Molly," he breathed, then returned to sucking at her neck, making sure to nip hard enough to leave a mark. Property of Sherlock Holmes, that mark would say, for all the world to see.

"Sherlock, please, please just fuck me!" Molly cried, writhing in his hold again, struggling in earnest to free herself.

Sherlock was having none of that; he tightened his grip and bit down on her neck as punishment. "You weren't picturing me with Irene Adler," he mused after she'd let out a sharp cry of mingled pain and pleasure. He nipped her earlobe. "You don't like the idea of me being with another woman, I doubt that's changed in the past two years."

As soon as he raised himself up enough to look down at her, Molly knew he'd figured it out. She blushed deeply and tried to look away, but felt pinned by the heat in his gaze. "You were imagining me with John, weren't you, Molly. You dirty girl. Picturing me with John pinned underneath me, gasping and swearing as I fucked him into the mattress. Weren't you. Admit it."

"Yes, all right, fine, I was!" Molly gasped, arching beneath him, aching for him to just get back to fucking _her_ into the mattress. "I know it never happened and never will but God, yes, I get so hot thinking about watching the two of you fucking each other."

As if her confession had uncorked a bottle, Sherlock released her wrists and pulled out of her, flipping her over and hauling her to his knees. Without another word he thrust back into her cunt, hips snapping as he dug his hands into her hips. The bruises he was leaving would take a few days to disappear, but he knew Molly wouldn't care, that she'd be excited every time she saw them. He'd honestly never thought about having sex with John – mostly because John would never agree and why bother fantasizing over something you'll never have? – but also because he'd been fucking celibate for most of his adult life, after uni of course. Hardly anyone made it out of uni with their virginity intact, in his experience. But there hadn't been anyone until Irene, and then Molly. He'd bottled up all his sexual energy while he was away tracking down and destroying Moriarty's criminal empire for the past two years and had deliberately avoided even masturbating until the last few weeks before Mycroft brought him back home.

The thought of John in the position Molly currently occupied was enticing, but he set it aside, concentrating on the woman he was fucking. Knowing that she thought it would be hot to see Sherlock and John together….that was something to explore another time. His lips peeled back in a feral snarl as he heard her moaning his name, her face pressed against the pillow and her arse raised high in the air, so submissive and willing and god her cunt felt so good…he let it go, all his thoughts, all the frustrations and pain and humiliations of the last two years; even the triumphs and savage satisfaction at destroying what Dear Jim had worked so hard to build up – let it all go as he concentrated his entire being on giving Molly a fourth orgasm and finally allowing himself his first in two long years.

He felt her walls clenching around him, knew she was close, and released his right hand from its death-grip on her hip, reaching around to rub one finger against her clit. Her pussy was so wet, so tight and hot and fucking perfect, and he groaned out her name as she began bucking wildly against him. "Fuck, Molly, god, yes, so perfect, so fucking perfect, god, I love how you feel, I love the sounds you're making, don't hold back, god, yes, Molly, yessss…Aaaaaah!" He shouted as his orgasm took him by surprise, followed almost immediately by hers. She screamed his name again, her body trembling with aftershocks as he held desperately to her sweat-slicked, shaking form, pumping his cum into her, filling her and emptying himself and it felt so fucking good he could hardly believe it.


	4. Chapter 4

**okay last chapter thanks for reading everyone. this one has anal and toy use and mentions of threesomes.**

Sherlock let her sleep for about an hour before he woke her up again. He'd brought her a cold, wet wash cloth, which she'd held against her aching pussy, feeling the soothing coolness against her overheated flesh and knowing it wasn't just kindness that motivated Sherlock – he wanted her ready for him whenever he'd recovered. Molly smiled at the thought, knowing she should be upset or feel bad but also knowing she'd long since past the point where that was ever going to happen. Sherlock could do just about anything to her in the bedroom – or at least, in private – and she wouldn't mind. She loved him but she also craved him like a drug and knowing that he wanted her and craved her the same way was enough for now. One day maybe she'd want him to love her as well, but not just yet. She was just too happy to have him back in her life again to worry too much about the future.

So she'd eased her aching body and thanked him and snuggled under the covers while he prowled around her flat, and she'd quickly fallen asleep and started dreaming. Some damn dirty dreams, too, and not just dreams about her and Sherlock. Thinking about John had apparently sent her subconscious into a tizzy, because she dreamed John was licking her pussy while Sherlock fucked him from behind, all three of them moaning and gasping and writhing together in one hot, sweaty tangle.

It was Sherlock's mouth on her pussy, in fact, that woke her up, but at first she was still so confused by her dreams that she moaned out John's name. Her eyes snapped open as soon as she realized what she'd done and she stared down at Sherlock who'd stopped moving and saw he was looking up at her. But he didn't look angry, to her surprise. He smiled darkly and dipped his head back down, licking a long, hot stripe from her clit to her ass and back again. Molly shuddered and moaned, her head falling back on her shoulders as she bent her legs and let Sherlock spread them wider so he could get better access to the area she'd exposed to his hot mouth.

He slipped a long finger into her cunt then back out again, coating it with her juices before swirling his finger around her ass, then quickly pushing inside her like he had earlier, but the both knew he was getting her ready for his cock.

Molly bucked and moaned at the sensation of Sherlock's finger inside her ass, first just the tip but quickly buried deep inside, sliding in and out in time with his tongue on her clit and quickly joined by a second finger. He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to ask, "I supposed Tom wasn't into ass play either, Molly? Never gave you a proper fuck in your tight little rosebud?"

Molly shook her head, she couldn't even speak she was panting so heavily and so turned on. "And of course Tom would never even think about a threesome, unless it was with you and another woman, and you never even thought of saying anything to him about it because you knew he'd be to much of a chickenshit to try. Just like he was too fucking timid to treat you the way you really like to be treated during sex. I'm right Molly, aren't I," Sherlock said, still pumping his fingers in and out of her slick opening. He pressed the thumb of his other hand against her clit, hard, and she came with a scream, clenching around him and nearly making him cum just by the way she reacted to him.

When she was still shaking and moaning he pulled his fingers out and flipped her onto her stomach, hauling her back up onto her knees. "Open for me," he demanded, leaning down to tongue fuck her sweet ass as soon as she obeyed him. She was a sopping wet mess but it had been two years and there was no way he was fucking her there without some sort of lube. And although Tom would never have had the guts to fuck her there, Sherlock was smugly certain Molly still had some lube in her nightstand drawer, along with a romance novel and a vibrator.

When he reachd over to open the drawer, he found exactly what he'd thought he'd find. Molly remained where he'd placed her, head down on the pillows, watching excitedly as he pulled out the lube and the vibrator. "Well, well, what have we here," Sherlock purred as he kneeled back between her legs. "Something left over from the old days. Am I wrong in deducing that this got a lot of use whenever Tom didn't spend the night? Possibly as soon as he left?"

"Yes," Molly whispered, eyes gleaming with anticipation as she licked her lips and spread her knees further apart. "Please, Sherlock, use it on me. Open me up so I can take you inside me like we used to do."

"You couldn't stop me now if you tried," he reassured her, squeezing some lube onto the tip of the vibrator and holding it gently against her ass before turning it on to its lowest setting. Molly moaned loudly at the sensation, crying out as he slipped the slick, cool tip of the vibrator into her ass. He worked it gently inside her even though she could see he was dying to shove his cock into her, but neither of them were into that kind of pain, the kind that didn't lead directly to pleasure. Sherlock liked it rough and knew Molly did to, but they both knew their limits.

As soon as Molly had been stretched out enough, Sherlock tossed the vibrator aside and coated his dick with the lube, then pulled Molly's ass cheeks apart to reveal the opening he'd readied. She nodded when he glanced at her, keeping their gazes locked as he slowly, painstakingly slid his cock deep inside her ass. When he was fully seated he gave her a moment to get used to the sensation, and when he judged by her expression she was ready, began moving slowly, pumping his hips and groaning at the sensation. "We'll do this one day," he gasped out as she began moving with him, one hand touching her pussy. He loved watching her play with herself while he fucked her up the ass, it was an incredible turn on. He reached around and pinched her nipple, then did the same to the other one, loving the small yelp she gave at the unexpected pressure. "You and me and John, one day, he wants me he just never could admit it, and we both know he wouldn't say no to fucking you. Would you like that Molly?"

She moaned out a yes, lost in her own pleasure, soon reduced to begging him to fuck her harder, her fingers moving in a frenzy as she tried to coax another orgasm out of herself. Sherlock pushed her hand away and confidently used his fingers to touch her where she'd just been touching herself. She was worked up enough that she slammed herself against his cock, nearly pulling away hard enough for him to come out, but he grabbed her ass with his free hand and held her in place, increasing his pace, snapping his hips against her ass, feeling the orgasm building while she writhed and moaned beneath him.

Molly screamed Sherlock's name as she came, feeling proud when he shouted her name and came seconds after she did. No one else got to see Sherlock like this – well maybe John would if Sherlock convinced him to join them someday. But no one else. Not any more. She didn't care who he'd fucked while he'd been away; he was hers now and she wasn't going to let anyone else come between them. As he pulled her into his arms when they collapsed onto the bed, Molly said, "No one else, Sherlock. Just you and me. And John if he's willing, but no one else. I swear. You do the same."

"don't be ridiculous, Molly," Sherlock mumbled, already half asleep after their marathon sex. "There's never been anyone but you, not since we started sleeping together. And there never will be again. Except John, like you said. If he's willing." But Molly knew that tone of voice; John would be willing. It might take a while but he'd be in bed with them someday.

Someday, but not now. Now was all about her and Sherlock and she knew there would be more sex as soon as they'd both slept and recovered. And Sherlock had come as close to a declaration of love as she'd ever hoped to hear from him. She kissed him and allowed him to pull her back into his embrace, pulling a sheet up to cover their naked, sticky sweaty bodies.

All she'd ever wanted was for Sherlock to come home safe, and he had – and he'd come home still wanting her.

She was the luckiest woman on Earth.


End file.
